


i'm begging you to keep on haunting me

by CassandraStarflower



Category: IT (2017)
Genre: Bullies, Child Abuse, Dark Stuff, Gen, Ghosts, Neglect, Past Rape/Non-con, can’t say the same for the rest, haunted house au, it’s kinda dark but the ghosts aren’t mean, mentions of rape/non-con, summary makes it sound very dark, to Ben at least
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2019-10-09 15:30:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17409479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CassandraStarflower/pseuds/CassandraStarflower
Summary: “She smiled at Ben, and he was struck by the thought that for a girl from 1903, she was awfully loud and brilliant.”Sisters Amanda Townsend and Arlene Hanscom have just bought a new house, Woodhull Manor, an old house built in the late 1800s. Ben's excited at first, thinking of the history, and glad to have his own room, more space to avoid his cousins.But there's a row of graves in the backyard. And his room is cold.Oh yeah, and there are ghosts.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just kinda… wrote this. It’s not very good.

Woodhull Manor, 1995. 

Ben knew the house was haunted by the end of Day Two living there. 

First of all, there was a row of graves in the backyard. Beverly Marsh, 1890-1903. William Denbrough, 1917-1926. George Denbrough, 1920-1926. R.T, 1930-1943. Stanley Uris, 1944-1957. Michael Hanlon, 1963-1976. And Edward Kaspbrak, 1973-1986. 

Second of all, his room was cold. Icy cold. Freezing, sometimes. 

Third of all, the only thing in the closet was an extremely old looking dress. Like early 1900s old. 

Fourth, he'd just met a ghost. The ghost's name was Richie. 

Meeting a ghost makes the hauntedness of the house very obvious. 

The rest of the family didn't seem to notice. They didn't seem to notice how cold certain places in the house were. Or the old objects. There were phones in every room- according to Richie, they were from when the Manor was a hotel. 

By Day Six, he'd also met Beverly, Bill, Georgie, and Eddie. 

Beverly told him that there were other ghosts too. 

“There's Mike, and Stanley.” she said, lying on her stomach on his bed. He sat on the bed next to her and listened. 

He liked Beverly. She was  _ vivid.  _ Bright red hair that spilled over her shoulders. Bright green eyes. Colorful freckles spattered across her face. 

Ghosts were supposed to be grayscale. Silvery and pale. But all the ghosts here were in full color. They  _ seemed _ solid, too. Goodness knows Richie liked playing with Ben's hair at dinnertime, fingers icy cold but solid and  _ real _ . 

“Do you think I'll meet them soon?” Ben asked Beverly. 

She shrugged. “Sure. Mike's a real sweetheart. Very kind. Stan's a stubborn asshole. He only really likes to scare people and hang out with Richie. But I'm sure he'll like you.” She smiled at Ben, and he was struck by the thought that for a girl from 1903, she was awfully loud and brilliant. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Father Robert's Catholic Orphanage, 1941. East Back Room. 

Richie awoke to the feeling of someone petting his hair. He instantly snapped his eyes open-  _ he'd locked the door, he was sure of that _ \- afraid that maybe Jackie had gotten in here despite the locked door. Jackie scared him. There was just something incredibly  _ off _ about the other boy. 

It wasn't Jackie. It was a girl. 

There weren't any  _ girls  _ here! Just Matron, who was tall and bony and had black hair and creepy pale eyes. This wasn't Matron. This was a girl with bright red hair and green eyes and freckles. 

Her fingers were icy cold. She noticed him staring at her and gave him a very sad smile, pulling her hand away. “Hi, Richie.”

He stared at her wide-eyed. “Hi. Who are you?”

“I'm Beverly.”

“Are you an angel?” 

She blinked and shook her head. “No, I'm a ghost.” 

“A ghost? Did you die here?”

“Yes, I did.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Woodhull Manor, 1896. Front Yard. 

“We're going to live here, Daddy?” the tiny six-year-old asked her father. 

“Yes, we are.” Alvin Marsh smiled down at his daughter. 

Beverly stared at the house. It was huge and dark, and for a moment she felt utter fear, chills running down her spine, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. 

She had a nightmare that night, screams echoing in her mind. 

_ Oh God i'm dying Daddy please _

Fractured thoughts entered her head. 

_ No not Georgie not Georgie _

Broken.

_ No no it hurts it  _ **_hurts_ ** _ can't breathe _

Foreign. 

_ The water's cold it's turning  _ **_red_ **

She didn't understand. 

_ My throat I can't  _ **_breathe_ **

These weren't her thoughts at all. 

_ Mommy let me out i'm hungry i need water _

Her mommy had been dead for two years. 

In the morning she had forgotten. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Woodhull Manor, 1995. Dining Room. 

“And you’ll all start school on Monday. It’s Friday, so two more days.” Amanda said. 

Richie, standing behind Ben, made mocking faces. Ben was fairly sure Richie did not comprehend what actual school was like, given that he’d been ‘educated’ at a badly-run Catholic orphanage in the thirties and forties. 

“Okay, Mom.” Greg rolled his eyes again. “I get it already.” He smirked at his younger brother, Ernie. 

Ernie smirked too, rolling his eyes. “School’s boring. Ben’s the only one who likes school.” 

Ben bit his lip and focused on his plate, trying not to jump when cold fingers slid into his hair. 

“Why do you like school?” Richie whined. “My hands never stopped hurting.” 

Ben couldn’t exactly answer Richie’s question in the middle of dinner, but he suspected he knew why Richie’s hands ‘never stopped hurting’. 

Finally, finally, dinner ended and Ben could flee upstairs. 

The ghosts were all gathered in his room, as per usual. He smiled as he walked in and closed the door. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Woodhull Manor, 1986. East Back Room. 

“Mom?” Eddie rasped. He felt… tired. Bone-deep numb exhaustion. His mother didn’t come, hardly surprising since she was probably downstairs watching TV. 

Eddie had been hungry for weeks, she kept forgetting to bring him food. Keeping him in the bed. He’d kept trying to get up and move around, so she’d tied one wrist to the headboard, straining his shoulder and leaving him trapped. 

He wasn’t hungry anymore. He just felt empty. He wasn’t thirsty, but his head was spinning. 

He felt weak. His body sank into the mattress and he gazed at the ceiling, blackness slowly encroaching on the edges of his vision. The last thing he saw was a boy with glasses, sitting on the edge of the bed. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Woodhull Manor, 1995. West Back Room. 

Richie hated this room, hated hated hated hated hated it. His wrists were throbbing just walking in here. It stunk of a previous occupant worse than ever now that Greg Townsend occupied it. 

_ Patrick Fucking Hockstetter _ . 

The only reason Richie was in here now was to play a prank on Greg, who had been quite a bully to Ben. 

Greg was sitting on his bed. Doing a typical teenage-boy activity, in others words, jerking off. Richie looked away quickly, feeling somewhat sick. He- didn’t like any and all things related to sex. Which came from extreme and brutal sexual abuse starting at the age of eleven and only ending with murder. And not exactly a) having access to mental health care or b) believing in that shit. 

Greg really, really reminded him of Patrick. 

Oh well. Richie grabbed a notebook and threw it at Greg, who yelped. 

_ Time to play _ . 

The room was cold with Richie’s presence and displeasure. Greg was staring at his notebook as he hastily zipped his pants up. Richie snickered softly and knocked the desk chair over. Tossed seven pencils and a pen out the window. 

Greg was making distressed noises and running to the window. 

Richie left. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Really?” Ben asked Richie, who gave him a sheepish smile. 

“Well, he’s annoying.” Richie rubbed at his wrists. Ben sighed heavily and spun the office chair back to the desk.


	2. i know you're still there

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More information about the ghosts and their pasts, and some contemplation from Ben and Stan on the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, two people commented and said they wanted more, so…   
> Chapter title from Haunted by Evanescence.

Father Gray’s Catholic Orphanage, 1941. Ballroom.

Richie sat as still as he possibly could as Sister Judith paced at the front of the room. This room, the classroom, had been a ballroom before. Sometimes Richie would get distracted wondering whether there had ever been balls in here, people dancing and music playing. 

Maybe he should ask Beverly, she was most likely to know. 

Someone was staring at him. He shifted uncomfortably and stared straight ahead. 

“Are you paying attention, Richard?” Sister Judith was suddenly in front of him, ruler in hand. 

He jerked, then flinched as the ruler smacked against his hands. 

“Oooowwww.” he whined under his breath as she walked away. He pulled his hands under the desk and winced. 

Bev wandered over, a chilly girl in a long white nightdress, red hair flowing over her shoulders. She stood next to him, putting a hand on his shoulder, making him feel cold. He didn’t mind the cold so much anymore. Sister Judith had caught him one morning standing outside in the snow barefoot. She’d screamed at him for a long time, and he thought she’d sounded-  _ scared _ . 

Maybe she was afraid of what might happen if someone died here. 

Well, one of the orphans. Three people had already died here. 

If any orphans were gonna die he was aware enough to know it was gonna be him. He was the scapegoat of the orphanage, frankly, and everyone hated him. (Except for Patrick, but…) 

He pressed his stinging hands together and tried to sit still, Beverly’s cold hand resting on his shoulder. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Woodhull Manor, 1903. East Back Room. 

Beverly Marsh hated her life. She was like a princess in a tower, not allowed to go to school or leave the property. The only people she ever talked to were her father and the groundskeeper, Mr. Maturin. 

And her father routinely… violated her. She knew several things about this- One, it was not her fault. Two, it was very wrong and possibly illegal. And three, she really really wished it would  _ stop _ . 

She had gone to sleep like normal, and had woken to her father. On her. He had a knife in his hand and when she screamed, he brought it down, plunging it into her chest. Pulled it out. Brought it down again. 

She kept screaming as he stabbed her to death and then- only then- did he get off her and put his pants back on, staring at her dead body with the flaming hair spread over her pillow, her white nightgown around her waist and stained with blood, soaked with it. The bed was bloody now. 

Only an hour after he killed his daughter, Alvin Marsh took a gun and went out to the guardhouse and shot himself three times. He was found by Mr. Maturin, who took him to the hospital, where Al confessed to killing his daughter. 

Alvin was buried with his wife. Beverly was buried in the backyard of Woodhull Manor, in a lonely funeral with on attendee, Mr. Maturin, who buried her. 

The blood would never come out of the mattress, which would never be changed. The only reason no one would ever see the blood was due to the mattress cover, which Mr. Maturin changed days after the murder. 

There would only be more blood in the years to come. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Woodhull Hotel, 1976. Basement. 

Later, Mrs. Grogan would swear that she’d never seen a more horrible sight in her life, as she sat at a table in the dining room fanning herself and talking to the police. 

But now, Mike Hanlon was in the basement, mumbling to himself as he grabbed a crate. He didn’t like the basement. It was dark and cold and he couldn’t see much. 

He started for the stairs and heard a creak. 

“Hello?” he called cautiously. “Somebody down here?” 

Henry Bowers came into view and Mike let out a nervous laugh. “Oh. You scared me.” 

“Good.” Bowers replied and Mike took a step back and tripped on another crate, dropping the one he was holding and wincing at the clatter. He reached for it and felt hands closing around his throat. 

He clawed at Bowers’ arms, weakening, vision darkening, going numb. 

The housekeeper, Mrs. Grogan, found him three hours later, lying amid the crates with his throat crushed. She screamed, drawing plenty of attention. 

Will and Jessica quit a week later when Henry Bowers confessed- and got off. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Woodhull Manor, 1995. Backyard. 

Ben had walked to the row of graves after his first day of school. His cousins were all mad at him right now and school had been hard. 

The graves were strangely comforting. 

And strange. 

Mr. Maturin put flowers on every grave on occasion. Ben recalled that every single ghost remembered Mr. Maturin as the groundskeeper. Mike had once casually said that maybe Mr. Maturin was some kind of undead. Ben would- frankly not be surprised. 

Mr. Maturin always looked at Ben with a sad look on his face. He’d said once to Ben’s aunt that a child had died every time the house was occupied. 

Aunt Amanda had been  _ horrified _ . She’d told Mr. Maturin not to talk about those things in front of the children- ignoring the fact that Ben was right there. 

Sometimes, Ben wondered. That was a scary fact, right there, and Mr. Maturin had been here the whole time- Bev said he’d been groundskeeper before she’d moved in. And Mr. Maturin kept looking at him like he was looking at a dead boy walking. 

Yeah. Ben wondered sometimes.  _ Was _ he a dead boy walking?

He didn’t like that thought. 

No, he didn’t like that thought at all. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Woodhull Manor, 1956. Bathroom. 

Stan did not like Woodhull Manor very much. It was cold, and the nearby school was full of jerks and assholes, and he didn’t have any friends. 

And it was cold. Stan hated the cold. After that incident years ago when that man had shoved him into the snow and- 

He hated the cold. 

He stared at his reflection blankly, letting hot water run over his hands. 

Why was this damned house so fucking cold? 

He shivered at the thought. Damned house. Maybe it was. 

Almost by habit, he rearranged the words. House of the damned. 

He shivered again and turned the water off. Dried his hands. His eyes caught on the tub- a massive, claw-footed monstrosity that his mother adored. He liked it too. 

He enjoyed taking baths, but lately he’d felt an ominous cloud over it all. 

He blinked. There was blood in the bathtub. His breath hitched in his throat.  _ Wha-? _

He blinked again. The blood was gone, the tub was clean- he crossed to the tub and wiped a finger along the inside. 

Nothing. 

What the fuck? 

What the  _ fuck _ ? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys liked this! I now kinda have an actual plotlike thing going on here.   
> I mean, this is really short, but...


	3. i was as pure as a river (but now i think i’m possessed)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie dies. Eddie ponders, alone in his room. Bev plays in the snow. Ben is tormented by his cousins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’M BACK

Father Gray’s Catholic Orphanage, 1942. East Back Room. 

Richie was still awake. It had been hours since he was sent to bed without supper. He grimaced. His stomach wasn’t even rumbling anymore- just empty. 

He hurt. A lot. Everywhere. 

He was also alone tonight. None of the ghosts had shown up all day. 

He held his wrists up, staring at them. They were mottled purple and blue in the moonlight. 

He let his wrists drop onto his face and lay there, feeling them ache. 

It was winter and the snow fell past his window. His room was chilly; this place didn’t have much in the way of insulation. There was someone talking loudly in the room next door- probably Jackie. The other boy had no concept of good behavior, unlike Richie, who understood and chose to ignore. 

There were faint footsteps down the hallway. Richie lowered his hands, letting them flop onto his stomach, ignoring the sting from the scratches. It was probably Judith going to tell Jackie to shut up. 

He heard the knock and Judith, quiet, seething with anger. “Jackson White, stop talking immediately and keep quiet until breakfast!” 

More footsteps, walking away now. 

Silence. 

Gah. Why couldn’t he sleep? 

He heard more footsteps, headed this way. _What the fuck? Jackie shut up, why’s she coming back?_

His door swung open and he froze, then sat up. 

_fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck fuck fuck FUCK_

Patrick. 

“What are you doing?” he whispered, voice shaking. Patrick crossed the room. 

“Shh.” Patrick said quietly, pulling out a knife. Richie went white. 

Patrick climbed onto the bed and pinned Richie’s wrists above his head. Richie drew in a breath to scream and Patrick- kissed him, effectively muffling any sound Richie might make. 

The knife was cold against Richie’s throat. Patrick was heavy. Everything hurt already and now. 

The knife sank into his throat. He tasted blood. 

And… 

Nothing. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Woodhull Manor, 1986. East Back Room. 

Eddie stared at the ceiling. There wasn’t much else to do here. Not with his mother downstairs watching TV and his wrist tied to the headboard. Not like he could move. 

His mom let him go to the bathroom once a day. Let him eat once a day to ‘get rid of the puppy fat’. 

His stomach hurt. 

His room was cold. 

He was tired. All the time. Sonia always said it was because of how fragile he was. 

Eddie was pretty sure it was actually because she starved him, but what did he know. 

He was bored. 

Bored. 

B o r e d. 

Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do about his boredom. 

No books allowed- they might give him ‘ideas’. No TV- it might also give him ‘ideas’. No friends because he was never allowed outside or allowed to go to school. 

Eddie sat up, adjusting his arm to avoid pulling at the zip tie looped around his wrist. 

There was snow falling outside his window and he frowned. 

_It’s summer. Why’s it snowing in summer?_

He felt a chill pass through him and shivered, pulling up the blankets one-handed. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Woodhull Manor, 1900. Back Yard. 

Bev delightedly twirled through the snow, gazing up at the snowflakes, beaming. It was a nice day out, cold enough for snow, and she was having fun. Snowflakes caught in her bright red hair and melted against her skin. 

It was too bad there wasn’t anybody to play with, really, but her father was too busy and the neighbors were all too far away. 

And she wasn’t really allowed to talk to Mr. Maturin, either. 

She knelt and started making a snow fort, ignoring the snow soaking into her skirt. In her head, she built up an entire world. Two castles, and she had one of them. She had six knights who fought bravely beside her. No. One King, and six knights, and she was a knight. 

Fighting would be fun. If she weren’t a girl she would make a good knight, probably. But in her fantasy world, she was the best knight. 

She started hurling snowballs at the nearby trees, hissing at the sensation of cold snow on her skin. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Woodhull Manor, 1995. 

“Hey, Ben! When we start school will you do my homework for me?” Greg hollered. Ben stiffened. 

“Oh yuck.” Richie grimaced at Greg. “Homework.”

Ben dearly wanted to ask if Richie had ever done homework in his life, but was well aware that that was a bad idea in front of his cousins, who would never let him live it down if he talked to thin air. 

Plus he was worried that his aunt would want to exorcise the house if she knew he saw ghosts, and he didn’t want to know if that would work. 

The TV flickered in front of them as the four kids sat on the couch. Okay, more like eleven kids, not that Greg, Ernie, and Jessica even saw eight of the room’s occupants. 

Apparently, the TV fascinated Bev, Bill, and Georgie, who had all died before it was invented, and Richie, who had never been allowed to watch TV before. Apparently Father Gray thought it was ‘sinful’. Or maybe he just hated fun, as Richie had once said. 

Bev was sitting right in front of the TV, her nose barely an inch from the screen, and Ben really wanted to tell her how bad that was for her eyes, but she was a ghost in an unchanging state of being, so she couldn’t actually screw up her eyes. 

Richie was perched on the back of the couch, right behind Ben, staring wide-eyed at the current cartoon. Eddie was sitting next to him, looking sickly and tired as he always did, slumped on Richie’s bony shoulder. Stan was sitting next to Eddie. He looked bored, as always. He seemed perpetually disinterested in anything and everything. Also, pissed. Bev had told Ben once that Stan had killed himself hoping for something more than being trapped in the same fucking house for the rest of eternity. 

Mike was sitting on the floor, near Ben’s feet, smiling and laughing at the cartoon. Bill was sprawled on his stomach next to the couch. Georgie was perched on the arm of the couch next to Ben. 

“Hey, are you listening to me, fatty?” Greg demanded, digging his elbow into Ben’s side. Oh. Right. 

“I can’t do your homework for you. Mom and Aunt Amanda will notice! And the teachers!” 

Greg mockingly rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on, that’s stupid. They won’t notice.” 

“Yes they will!” Ben protested. 

“Shut up!” Jessica shouted. “I’m trying to watch the TV!” 

Greg rolled his eyes and Ben quietly turned away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got a laptop and writing is so much easier on a laptop than on a phone geez

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, this is disjointed, but I don’t feel like rewriting it. So I’m just gonna leave it here and if anybody likes it, maybe I’ll write more.


End file.
